


Sonnet 75

by steviesfreckles



Series: FemSlash February [1]
Category: The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Shakespearean Sonnets, True Love, but only kinda, honestly this whole thing is soft, sonnet 75
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22536253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steviesfreckles/pseuds/steviesfreckles
Summary: Isabelle Lightwood is a warrior, always has been and always will be. It plays in her favor more often than it doesn't, but in this case, when all she wants to do is tell Clary how in love with her she is, it causes more problems than it solves.
Relationships: Clary Fray/Isabelle Lightwood
Series: FemSlash February [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621528
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31
Collections: Shadowhunters 2020 Femslash February





	Sonnet 75

**Author's Note:**

> I forgot to add this when I first posted because I was running off 6 cups of coffee and half that many hours of sleep, but thank you @TobyTheWise for betaing me. You're the best and truly Parent #1. <3

Isabelle watched the logs glow in the fireplace, listening to the crackling, letting it wash over her. This was simple, this moment in time, sat in her chair with Clary curled in her lap, head resting on her chest. The red velvet soothed her worrying fingers, at least the ones that weren’t carding themselves through her love’s red hair. 

It was a fear of Izzy’s, to be vulnerable. If she was being honest, it was the one thing that weighed on her most. Grand romantic gestures made her nervous and flighty, uncertain where she was usually surefooted, but only because it meant something this time. Isabelle Lightwood was a master seductress and could swing her hips better than anyone else in the room, but Clary had always been unaffected, impervious to her flirtations. It was what made her so captivating to the Lightwood, who had usually grown bored of offering her affections within a few weeks. 

Isabelle looked down at the girl sleeping on her chest. She knew the look on her face was one she had been mercilessly teased for by Alec. Izzy couldn’t help herself, couldn't pull back if she tried. She didn’t want to though, it was a reassurance to herself, to Clary, that she was capable of something more than the pass and go relationships she was known for. 

Jace used to make passing remarks and still did on occasion. Isabelle could bring his voice to mind, a tone that once would have made her laugh now felt scathing, “really, Izzy,” humor tinging his words, “another round of love ‘em or lose ‘em with someone that lives across the hall? Seems a little edgy even for you.” 

Yesterday, Clary had given her flowers. Isabelle brought a thank you to her lips and tucked them away in her room on the bedside table. Later, when they were out on patrol Jace nudged her with his shoulder. “Do you even like Clary?” He seemed a bit taken aback as he asked. 

The question slapped her across the face. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Isabelle hoped the heat in her voice was enough to burn. 

“Hey, hey, woah. Take it down a couple notches,” Jace held his hands up in surrender, “I just mean that you were kind of blank when Clary gave you flowers and then rushed off and no one’s seen them since. I just kind of assumed you tossed them.” The way he trailed off was enough to tell Izzy that he felt bad he had said anything at all. 

“I  _ did not _ throw them away,” she looked off guiltily, “They’re on my nightstand, just like everything else Clary gives me.” 

Jace’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re telling me you keep  _ all _ the junk she gets you? You don't even look vaguely interested in it when she gives it to you.” 

The stinging in Izzy’s heart carried with her as her mind drifted back to the present. She wasn’t cold or unloving, she just wasn’t outwardly expressive, especially when it came to vulnerability. Isabelle loved Clary, adored her, was wrapped around her little finger, and she wouldn’t change it for anything. 

She wanted to open herself up, to let her lover in, and the first step could always be small. Isabelle wound her arms just a little tighter around the redhead cradled in her lap and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. 

Izzy’s chest tightened but the words that she had learned in an Idrisian classroom years ago came back to her, easily flowing from her mouth.

_ “So are you to my thoughts as food to life,  _

_ Or as sweet seasoned showers are to the ground.  _

_ And for the piece of you I hold such strife _

_ As twixt a miser and his wealth is found; _

_ Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon. _

_ Doubting the filching age will steal his _

_ Treasure; _

_ Now counting best to be with you alone, _

_ Then bettered that the world might see my  _

_ Pleasure; _

_ Sometime all full with feasting on your sight _

_ And by and by clean starved for a look; _

_ Possessing or pursuing no delight, _

_ Save what is had or must from you be took. _

_ Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day, _

_ Or gluttoning on all, or all away.” _

Isabelle felt the tension drain from her. It wasn’t exactly easy, she thought, to say things like that, but it did  _ feel  _ good. Clary shifted in her grasp, tilting so those big, green eyes could look up at her. Isabelle had to catch her breath at the love she found in those eyes. 

“Shakespeare’s 75th,” her voice wasn’t asking. Clary had always been versed in the arts, quoting and reading and painting her days away. She soaked up all of the passion in the world like a sponge. 

She didn’t ask it, but Izzy could feel the question on the tip of Clary’s tongue.  _ Why,  _ she seemed to ask,  _ why do you say this now? _

“My love,” she whispered, grounding herself in the warm earthiness of Clary’s scent, “I know I don’t tell you often enough that I am enamored with you. My brother’s teasing makes me worry that you don't know how much I adore you, that I couldn’t live without you.”

The softness and single-minded focus that flickered in Clary’s eyes nearly broke her, unused to kindness from women in her life, unused to not having to compete for attention. “Isabelle,” her voice curled through their shared space like fog, “I  _ know _ you love me, whether you say it aloud or not, whether you thank me when I give you flowers or giggle when I sketch you lying in bed. I know your love in the way you play with my fingers and trace lines between the freckles on my shoulders. I know your love when we’re back to back, fighting off all the things that go bump in the night and how you carefully trace my iratze after. You don't have to say it with your words for me to know.” 

Clary reached up and brushed her fingers over Izzy’s face and it struck her that she was crying. “I am not good at being open like you are,” Izzy cupped her face, “I was not raised to be soft. I don't know how to string the words together like I want to.” She could feel shame creeping up her spine at the thought. Everything was either pass or fail, and in this she was failing. Isabelle wanted to be good at saying I love you and wearing her heart on her sleeve. She desperately needed Clary to know how much she loved her. 

Clary let forth a watery laugh. “Isabelle Lightwood, you grew up a warrior and I learned to hear you so I could love you. We speak different languages, but that doesn't make your’s any less real.” 

Izzy leaned forward until their foreheads came together. “I just want to be good for you.” 

“And you are my love, you are.” 

Clary tangled her fingers in the hair at the base of Isabelle’s neck and pulled her forward. They breathed the same air for half a moment before Izzy cracked and leaned in the last inch for a kiss. 

Their mouths moved as they always had, synchronized in a way that only came with hours spent tangled together in the sheets. Isabelle slipped her fingers beneath the hem of Clary’s nightshirt and the cold fingers made her gasp. Taking her chance, she licked into Clary’s mouth, exploring where she had been yesterday and the day before and the day before that. It felt silly, this fear she had carried with her for so long. How could two people fit so wonderfully together and not know they love each other? 

They broke apart, breathing deep. “I love you,” Clary’s voice resonated through the quiet space, “I love you and I can hear you.”

  
  



End file.
